Survival
by IntoTheWilds
Summary: ONE-SHOT: The world is harsh, people are cruel, but it takes more than this to take Spencer and Remy down..For SpencerRemyLvr!


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own X-Men, Criminal Minds or their Characters!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This was a prompt for my baby boy SpencerRemyLvr. It started out as a One-Shot and has since runaway with its own plan and will now be a trilogy. Here is the first installment! AU my doves since Spencer's background is getting a serious tweak!

Enjoy!

IntoTheWilds

xxxx

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><p><strong><span>October Ninth 1981: New Orleans:<span>**

Seven year old Remy moved through the streets of New Orleans like a ghost. No one saw him unless the little thief wanted to be seen, using the shadows to his advantage. Red on black eyes watched the privileged like a hawk and he found his target easily amongst them. He was a British gentleman with salt and pepper hair and the type of grin that made people give him a wide birth. Eyes the colour of ice kept a keen eye out, but Remy was confidant the man would never notice him. A dog yipped at the boy when he passed an alley, a scruffy little thing that looked as if he hadn't had a meal in a month. Remy paid him no mind and scarpered to the end of the street before darting across to the other side. It was late on a Saturday night, which worked greatly to Remy's advantage. The streets were pretty much packed. Remy slipped between people and finally got to where he wanted to be. A devious smile curved his lips. He could scarcely believe he was being paid two hundred dollars just to get his hands on the man's little black book. Of course Fagan would take most of it, but money was money on the streets no matter the amount. Closer he moved and gearing himself up, Remy started to laugh, bounding forward like a child at play until he crashed headlong into his primary target. The boy stumbled back landing heavily on his ass. With an exaggerated gasp, Remy scrambled to his feet and tore toward the cussing English man.

"F'give Remy sir, he didn't see y'," the boy hastily apologised patting the older gentleman down as if fixing him up, "I'm really, really sorry."

"Get away from me freak," the man spat shoving Remy away none too gently, "go on, get out of here, piece of shit!"

Remy's insides burned hot with temper, but he shoved it down. He had shit to get done and getting pissed at this guy would only disrupt it. Besides, the boy had already gotten what he wanted. With the little book already carefully hidden inside his pocket, Remy mockingly saluted the man and made his way back the way he had come. He had already gone several feet when the man's cry of outrage reached his ears and with a bark of laughter, the boy took off at a sprint. Russet strands spilled free of his hood and fast on his feet the child made tracks to get his ass out of any possible danger. Lucky for him his employer wasn't too far and hopefully he wouldn't run into old man William LaMontague between then and now. It was becoming a bad habit really. The night air was warm against his skin and scrambling through a rather dank alley, past the club Jones, Remy came out by a dreary looking house and froze when a snarl ripped through the darkness. Fuck! He had left the damn dog waiting for him. Caesar appeared from the shadows and the almost two hundred pound Rottweiler made Remy feel awfully small. He loved dogs, but this brute was an exception to the rule.

"Hey Caesar," Remy greeted in a small voice, "Diego ask y' t' wait f'r me huh? Good boy."

An even deeper growl escaped the dog making Remy jump, as if Caesar knew the kid was patronising him. Swallowing heavily the boy made slow movements toward the house and wasn't surprised at all when Caesar fell into step beside him. Sometimes Remy wondered if he was a dog at all. A light flared to life on the porch. It emphasised the decrepit situation about it, casting light and making the dark retreat. Caesar nudged Remy's hip making the boy scowl. He was going thank you very much! Like Diego had promised the door was off the latch and pushing it opened Remy made his way to the back room where he could hear a hell of a lot of laughter and female squeals. He found Diego entertaining, his girl Paris perched happily in his lap.

"Remy!" The thug called as if he was genuinely delighted to see the scrawny youth. "Good t' see y' kid. I'm guessin' y' have what I want? Y' better, Caesar ain't been fed t'day."

Ah there it was, the harsh temper beneath growled kindness—or pretended kindness—Remy knew true kindness when he had the pleasure of receiving it and that wasn't it. Wordlessly he reached into one of his many pockets and plucked the leather bound notebook free and held it close to his chest. "M' money." Remy said simply. He was no fool for a seven year old and had learnt the hard way to get the cash first. Caesar snarled and Paris made some remark, but with a gesture Diego silenced them both. A smirk had bloomed on his weather worn face, brown eyes alight with amusement.

"Clever little shit ain't y'." It wasn't a question. With a gravelly laugh the man reached into his pocket and removed a wad of cash. The gun on the same side was quite the discouragement for pick pockets. Counting off the bills he—to Remy's honest to God shock—not only handed over two hundred dollars, but a hundred dollars bonus also.

"I like y' kid," Diego told him honestly, "Y' got spunk."

"T'ank y'," Remy returned, not knowing what else to say. Tossing the book to Diego he pocketed his cash. "Anyt'in' else y' need?"

"Nope, but y'll be top of m' list if I do, now off with y'," Diego gestured toward the door, "home t' y'r mama."

It took quite a bit of self control not to flinch. After all Diego hadn't said it to be spiteful. He didn't know Remy was homeless with no parents. Casting one last look over the motley crew the boy turned on his heel and left. Any desire for food had dried up and with a rather depressive air the youth decided to just head for home. It was quite late, but Remy wasn't worried. He had yet to run into trouble and most people stayed the hell away from mutants. He had yet to develop any form of ability that could be considered dangerous, but he did have the interesting ability of manipulating a person's emotions. It was something that came in handy from time to time.

Thankfully that wasn't often, not when Remy was such a sneaky little shit. The further from the city he got, the darker it got and the closer Remy got to wonderful solitude, trees closing around him and the sounds of the Mississippi river filling his ears. It was peaceful here, one of the reasons Remy liked it and he wasn't worried about anyone showing up out of nowhere—namely the cops. Cops meant foster care, something Remy had been trying quite desperately to avoid. People with good intentions tended to do more damage than actually help when doing what was supposedly best for a child. Remy had heard enough horror stories to know the streets were safer, especially for a mutant. The moon was high in the sky, stars sparkling above his head and coming upon the abandoned little shack Remy smiled. It was good to be home.

Finding the oil lamp with ease the boy got it lit and made his way about his little house lighting candles as he went. Beneath a lose floorboard near his bed of blankets he pulled free a little tin box and pulling the lid off, Remy stashed his cash with the rest of it. It wasn't much, but it would keep him going food wise for a little bit and that was if Fagan's bitch Desdemona didn't convince him to up his cut again. Remy sighed heavily. The day would come when he wouldn't have to worry about such shit. With a yawn the seven year old boy looked about and never felt so lonely. With tears watering his red on black eyes, the victory no longer seemed so victorious and with a sniffle Remy curled up on his blankets and cried himself to sleep. He was woken hours later when all hell broke loose. Remy yelped from shock when he was viciously yanked from bed and his eyes peeled wide at the sight of the old English man.

"Hello boy, you have something that belongs to me."

There was no one near to hear his screams.

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><p><strong><span>Las Vegas:<span>**

Diana Reid whimpered trashing upon the hospital bed. The pain was unbearable and William stood right by her bedside looking completely helpless. Diana had been in labour for almost forty-three hours, but there was no sign of their child actually emerging. William couldn't believe they were leaving her like this. Sure problems had yet to arise, but to leave her so long was cruel! Part of William seethed that it was his wife's mutant status that had left her so neglected. With a cry of agony Diana scrambled from bed and shakily began to pace to help her through the pains. A sudden howl of agony had William rushing toward her and his heart froze in his chest. Blood had suddenly started to gush from his wife.

"Help," William bellowed, "someone help us!"

Oh God where were they? Slowly Diana sank to the floor, the pool of blood growing in size by the second. William hollered until his throat was hoarse and finally the room was filled and Diana was whisked away to surgery. Something to do with a detached placenta being tossed about as they rushed. Heart in his throat William sank into a chair and almost vomited when he got a load of his red stained hands. Oh God, what if he lost her? No! He wouldn't think like that. Diana was stronger than that. Trembling, nerves shot, William surged to his feet and began to pace up and down. At this rate he'd be hospitalised himself from stress. With nothing else to do William continued to pace and tried to ignore the pitying looks from the nurse watching him. The time past painfully slow. William was fit to slam his head against the far wall when a surgeon finally approached him. He had just sat but was on his feet in seconds and fear coiled in his gut. William knew when bad news was written in every line of a person and it was there on her.

"Mr Reid you're wife gave birth to a son. We had to do an emergency C-section and it was touch and go with the child, but he's fine now."

William had a brief moment of joy. He had a son! But there was more. There was always more. "My wife." He croaked. "What about my wife?"

A pained look came upon the surgeon's face, "the bleeding was extensive. We couldn't repair the damage in time. I'm sorry sir, your wife didn't make it."

William couldn't breathe. His heart beat sluggishly in his chest and legs wobbling he sank into the nearby chair. Diana was dead. It kept playing over and over in his mind and yet he could barely take it in. A violent tremor rolled through him and he was mighty grateful that the surgeon left him be. Pain unlike anything William had ever encountered had engulfed him. Tremors washed over him again and again and giving into great sobs, William thoroughly fell apart. Diana was gone, his beautiful, sweet Diana was no more. It wasn't fair! Aware someone was calling his name, William looked up bleary eyed and flinched back. A nurse stood before him with a squirming bundle in a blue blanket. The pitying look upon her face was enough to make William seethe. He didn't need their pity.

"Mr Reid," she said nervously—Maria according to her identification tag, "would you like to hold your son?"

This wasn't fair. Couldn't they just let him grieve? He couldn't do this now! And yet when the infant suddenly let out a distressed sound, William automatically reached for him. Carefully Maria settled the baby into William's arms and hastily stepped back. William didn't understand her wariness. The baby was small, a premature infant with a mop of brown curls and skin the shade of snow. He was beautiful. Wriggling in the blanket the baby blinked once, twice and opened his eyes and William saw what had left the nurse so unsure. Neither his hazel eyes or Diana's blue looked back; instead they were completely unique to the child. His irises were a rainbow of colour that seemed to pulse and change. His pupils were lily white and the scleras were inky black. They were the strangest thing William had ever seen, but they were stunning.

"Spencer," William breathed using the name Diana had picked out. The baby gurgled as if familiar with the name and William smiled. But his joy was short lived. Standing he handed the infant back to Maria and gathered up his belongings. "Goodbye Spencer." The man bid before walking away forever, his child's cries something that would haunt him forever more.

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><p><strong>~.~:*.*:\~.~**

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><p><strong><span>Las Vegas 1997: April 12th:<span>**

The strip was alive, the lights a bright beacon all about, making the night day and twenty-three year old Remy LeBeau stood outside the Bellagio with a semi bored expression upon his face. His contact was late. He knew his father needed this information badly, but it didn't mean Remy would enjoy it.

He had come a long way since that unfortunate street rat in New Orleans. He had lost a part of himself that October night, then he hardened himself and moved on, only to meet Jean-Luc LeBeau three years later after attempting to rob him. Ill advised, but it had turned out mighty fine in the end. Remy had fully come into his mutation five years later. He still had the odd moments where control got away from him, but he had eventually come to master it.

The night was pretty tropical and had called out all who intended to have a good time. Hookers stood on corners blatantly showing off their wares. Remy had been propositioned more than once and politely declined each time. Most gave him a wide birth. He had left his sunglasses off purposely for that effect. Tossing a deck casually between his hands Remy subtly scanned the crowd and when the time came he easily picked out his contact. He was a small man, wiry and with a face that could only be called rat like. Oily black hair hung in greasy tendrils about a face that same rat like face that was gaunt and sickly and dark eyes that darted everywhere were pinned to the back of his head. _Wonderful, _Remy thought irritably. All he needed was to spend time with a junkie.

"Remy LeBeau," the man squawked once he reached him.

Remy scowled. How the hell had the grub learnt his name? His father hadn't given it! Even more caution was needed and reluctantly he shook the man's filthy hand, "dats me, y' must be T'omas?"

Thomas nodded head snapping this way and that as if he was afraid he was being followed, "come, I'm not doing this out here."

Before Remy could argue either way the ratty little man took off. Grumbling to himself the Cajun darted after him, swerving through the crowd. Thomas kept two feet ahead muttering to himself, his body ticking with nerves. Remy briefly wondered when the man had last shot up; he was clearly in the beginning of withdrawals. They walked for quite some time; moving away from the strip until Thomas stopped outside a well known mutant run establishment—club aconite. Remy scowled distastefully. His father owed him big time. He hadn't mentioned this. Just that he was meeting Thomas. Club aconite was filled to the rafters on entry and any and all illegal activities were well underway. Remy tried to keep his scorn to a minimum since this little escapade wasn't exactly of the legal variety. Thomas shimmied through writhing bodies until he came upon a hulking man with a voluptuous brunette sat in his lap. The woman was stunning with perfect porcelain skin; lush thick golden-brown curls and eyes the colour of a spring meadow. Her body was emphasised by a whole lot of red leather and Mr D as he was known looked to be enjoying himself. Remy didn't realise he was dealing with this idiot! The whore let out a very girlish giggle and yet when she cast her gaze over Remy the Cajun was stunned by how sharp her look was. As if she was gazing into the depths of his soul. He wasn't given long to ponder on such things once Mr D noticed his presence.

"Welcome Mr LeBeau," Mr D boomed in delight, "I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

Remy curled his lip in distaste. Another who knew his name? Perfect! "It was quiet." He responded disinterested. "Enough of de pleasantries, I'm just here f'r a pick up, not t' braid y'r hair and discuss boys."

Not the least bit offended Mr D chortled. He found he really liked Remy. He was quite a character. Payment had already been taken care of and shifting the beauty on his lap Mr D rooted a moment before pulling free a small package. With a pleasant smile he held it out to Remy and between one breath and the next it all went to hell. The whore lit forward and snatched the package before any of them could stop her, but as fast as she was, Remy was faster. A pained yelp escaped her when Remy's Bō connected with her ribs and sent her flying backward. She hit the ground with a harsh thud. Remy lunged toward her and Mr D watched highly amused. He already received his side of the bargain. What did he care what happened to Remy's? The woman, who had simply introduced herself as Penny to Mr D, dodged out of Remy's way letting out a shriek of pain when one of the aconite patrons decided to intervene. This involved supposedly punching the petite female in the face with enough force behind it to put the hulk to shame. The package went one way and the woman—Penny—went the other, her body left sprawled. She was stunned, face bruising swiftly. Mr bright idea snatched up the stolen goods and tossed them toward Remy.

"Here you go man."

Remy caught them shoving them into his pocket and gave the idiotic youth a look that could've stripped paint, "Remy appreciates de help _homme_, but next time keep y'r hands t' y'rself." Too stunned to respond the youth watched Remy make his way to the woman who was trying to pull herself to her feet. "Easy femme, I have y'." Remy said gently reaching out and the second his hand touched hers a strange sensation licked over his skin. With a gasp he pulled back. Penny grinned deviously, winked and right before his eyes the woman melted away and he found himself gawking stupidly at a perfect carbon copy of himself. Remy-two or Penny leapt to his feet and Remy let out a startled sound when he was suddenly slammed backward with one placed kick. Cursing the Cajun scrambled to his feet and let out a string of vicious curses when Remy number two darted past him and to Remy's annoyance had the package in his hands. Leaving club aconite behind them Remy caught sight of his bolting doppelganger and made tracks after him. It wasn't easy. Whoever the little thief was, he was somehow anticipating every one of Remy's moves.

Car horns blared, people jumped out of the way and catching sight of the twin he never wanted Remy surged forward and took him down in one sweep.

A woman nearby screamed, other bodies scattered, but Remy didn't care to notice. His little identity thief spun around and swung at him, Remy expected a kick, or a punch and was shocked to his very core when the double tossed something at him that had a very familiar glow. The little shit could mimic his powers?! Dodging it Remy ducked for cover. Whoever this kid was, he had gone on the offensive and all around explosions lit up. Using the only other thing in his arsenal, Remy dug into his empathy and let it wash over his attacker. He knew it had worked when a howl of pain cut through the frantic shouts of scattering people. The sound morphed and changed and when Remy emerged from his cover, he was surprised to find a boy of only about sixteen on his knees, eyes wide and messy brown curls framing a gaunt face. His eyes were remarkable, black sclera, rainbow irises and white pupils. Face swollen and bloody from before, the boy pitched sideways and passed out. Breathing heavy, fully aware of their growing audience, Remy made his way toward the sprawled youth. The package was clutched in his left hand and bending down Remy retrieved it. It only took one look at the kid to have Remy's heart twisting and with a sigh he bent and gathered him up, hoping he wouldn't come to regret his choice.

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><p>A single move coming back to consciousness and it took all Spencer had not to scream. Twisting he realised he was on something soft and with reluctance the teenager opened his eyes. A lamp was the only light in the room so he wasn't immediately blinded. Squirming Spencer kicked away the blankets and sat up, tensing almost immediately when he realised he wasn't alone.<p>

"Easy petit." The one called Remy urged gently. "I ain't gonna hurt y'."

"Where am I?"

"M' hotel room," Remy told him standing up and tossing aside the book he had been reading, "y' passed out and I wasn't 'bout t' leave y' dere."

"Why wouldn't you?" Spencer asked utterly confused. "I've done nothing to earn refuge."

"_Non_, but Remy figured y' had t' be seven shades of desperate f'r a practical _enfant_ t' get mixed up with de likes of Mr D." Remy crossed his arms. He didn't bother asking _why_ Spencer was messing around with such filth. He doubted the kid would tell him. "So, since y' caused me a lotta shit, start talkin'."

Spencer cocked a brow with a cocky can't-touch-me grin. Remy, however, wasn't fooled. He could feel the fear wafting off of him in great waves. Without a second skin to hide behind, the kid's emotions were all out in the open. Remy noticed he was slightly underweight. As a patron of the streets once himself, it wasn't hard to see. Getting to his feet the Cajun reached for the phone upon the dresser table and dialled for room service. The whole time Spencer watched him. Remy didn't push him for any more information, he simply waited. When there was a knock on the door the youth darted to the corner of the large bed and crouched in a defensive pose. Remy frowned as he started toward the door and wondered what could have had the kid so on edge. Popping on his shades Remy was all pleasant smiles and took the tray graciously giving the youth on the other side a healthy tip. They had sent up the first kit, good.

Shutting the door behind him Remy settled the goodies upon the coffee table and made his way into the ensuite. Pouring hot water into a basin he grabbed a flannel cloth and went to tend to Spencer, if the youth let him that is. Spencer eyed him warily when Remy came much too close to the bed. Taking a seat the Cajun dropped the cloth into the basin, wringing it out and moved toward Spencer to dab at the boy's bloodied nose and lip. Spencer dodged each attempt and in the end Remy held the cloth out toward him. Snatching it from the Cajun Spencer dipped and dabbed at his own face with a pained wince.

"He got y' good dat _connard_," Remy frowned as more bruising was revealed with each swipe of the cloth, "y'r cheek is swollen."

"I've had worse," Spencer told him with a shrug of his shoulder. By the kid's twinge of terror Remy didn't doubt his word. Reaching for the tray he sat it down within the boy's reach. Almost immediately the teenager snatched a plate and began wolfing food, mindful of his throbbing face.

"Mr D called y' Penny, dat y'r real name?" Remy asked casually. He was fishing, but hey, whatever got the kid talking.

Spencer swallowed a bite and figured it couldn't hurt to tell him. "It's Spencer, Spencer Reid."

Remy grinned; score one for him, "So Penny f'r short?"

"If you like," Spencer shrugged a shoulder, "I don't really care."

"How old are y'?"

"Sixteen." Spencer responded without argument—well mostly. "Want to know my favourite colour next? It's purple."

Remy chuckled and held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry _Cher_, I'm not tryin' anyt'in sinister, I just want t' help. Y' don't have t' answer, but I do have one question dat I'd really like de answer t'."

"Go ahead." Spencer encouraged. "Since you did help me, I guess I owe you that much."

"How did y' change form? I mean, I guessed y'r a shape shifter, but I've never met one dat can mimic powers as well as change form." Remy frowned. "Come t' t'ink of it, when y' touched me, I got a weird feelin' all t'rough me. Was dat y'?"

Spencer grinned deviously. "I'm not your usual shape shifter. I can't just change my form into anything I want and only ever people."

"How does it work?"

"I need to touch someone. By touching someone it's as if I have downloaded a permanent copy I can access whenever I want. It also gives me full access to their talents—or in the case of mutants—their powers and their memories." Remy gave a jolt and Spencer's smirk grew. "Yes, Remy Etienne LeBeau, I know exactly who you are."

Well damn it. He wasn't expecting that. The last thing he needed was the kid to be walking around with full access to his memories.

"Dats quite a power _petit_," Remy said carefully.

Spencer laughed and reached for a cookie from the full tray. "Take it easy Remy; I've no use for anything I took from you. I don't care who you are."

Remy wouldn't even deny how much of a relief that was. He didn't need any unnecessary trouble. In silence Spencer ate his fill and growing more comfortable with Remy the boy climbed off the bed and wandered about. Remy watched him curiously and eventually asked the question he had been dying to ask.

"Have y' nowhere t' go Penny?"

"Nope," Spencer responded, "foster care became old fast and no one wants to adopt a mutant, especially one with my powers."

This made Remy frown, "shape shifting is hardly somet'in t' cringe from."

Spencer shook his head, "not that. I, eh, can create illusions too and I've often done it accidentally while sleeping. No one wants a freak around that can make nightmares a vivid reality."

"How long y' been in foster care?"

"Since I was born," Spencer shrugged and wandered toward the open balcony, "My mom died giving birth to me and my father abandoned me at the hospital. All he left me was my name."

Remy sighed running a hand through his russet locks. "I'm sorry t' hear dat Penny."

"Don't be." Spencer shrugged again. "I stopped caring a long time ago."

His emotions said different, but Remy didn't call him on it. He couldn't take away old hurts, but he could do right by the kid. "Get a shower _petit_ and some sleep, y'r coming home with me."

Spencer spun around stunned, but there was no malice on Remy's face. The Cajun appeared deadly serious. The hardened shell Spencer had pulled tight around himself cracked ever so slightly. What Remy was offering to him was the holy grail of treasures, but Spencer had long ago learnt, everything came at a price.

"Why would you do that for me?" The teen asked in a small voice.

Remy smiled softly, "because everyone deserves a nice soft bed and t' go t' sleep at night without fear."

Neither knew it at the time, but it would be the start of a beautiful friendship and with a delighted smile Spencer went for a shower a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders.

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><p><strong>~.~:*.*:\~.~**

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><p><strong><span>Las Vegas: Present Day:<span>**

Spencer ventured down the strip, the bright lights a fierce beacon all around, following Remy to their intended destination. He hadn't set foot within Las Vegas since that faithful day seventeen years ago and in all that time his life had changed quite dramatically. In the space of a week Spencer had gained family and a home. Jean-Luc had never officially adopted him, but he was indeed the closest thing Spencer had ever had to a father. Remy and he had gone through a spectrum of sorts of brothers, best friends and confidantes until finally partners and lovers of the last five years. It was only four years after that first meeting in Vegas that Remy and Spencer ended up leaving—well not voluntarily. There was Remy's whole banishment issue—and heading to the X-Men and becoming members after running into one of their most vital members, Storm—de-aged, amnesiac and with no powers. It hadn't been intended, but it was certainly one of their better decisions. They had roughed it together through thick and thin, had survived the likes of Magneto and sinister, the beginnings of the MRD, mutant hatred and the trial. Seventeen years created a lot of history, a lot of warmth, a lot of sorrows and an unyielding bond—and yet there were moments like these where Spencer wanted to kill the Cajun.

Club aconite this was their destination?! Seething Spencer stalked away from the entrance. Remy tore after him and grabbed his arm. "Whoa dere _cher_, what's y'r hurry?"

"Clearly you've suffered some sort of stroke, because I am not setting one foot inside. I want to live, thank you verrrrry much."

"Dey won't recognise y'."

"You don't know that, besides, they most likely won't let me past the door." Spencer pointed out. Remy's grin was devious and Spencer immediately knew what he was thinking. He gaped at Remy like he had grown two heads. There was no way he could be thinking what Spencer thought he was. By the glimmer in those red on black hues Spencer knew that was _exactly_ what he was thinking. "Forget it." The youth hissed in temper.

"Come on _Cher_! We need a way in!"

"I don't care." Spencer spat back shaking his head in disgust. "There isn't a hope I'm degrading myself just to catch this guy!" He was above such efforts these days.

"Not even f'r dose little ones who are missin' deir mamas?" Remy asked slyly.

The Cajun knew he had won the second Spencer growled out. "I hate you."

Remy grinned triumphantly, "Dats de spirit _petit_!"

With a vulgar curse and shoving Remy aside, Spencer moved out of anyone's line of sight, casting a brief look back toward the night club and reluctantly the boy shape-shifted his form. Remy never got tired of watching Spencer's powers in action. The transformation was quite a show. The scrawny youth melted away before his eyes. He lost a couple of inches in height and Spencer's entire figure changed until Remy was staring at a voluptuous woman in skin tight black leather and four inch stiletto boots. Thick lush golden-brown ringlets spilled to mid back, framing a beautiful, scowling face. Pillowy red lips pulled into a thin line. Remy let out a whistle and positively leered at his lover. Forest green eyes glared back at him and Remy found himself missing the familiar black scleras, white pupils and rainbow coloured irises. Red eyes dipping to Spencer's exposed cleavage; Remy threw his arm about 'her'.

"Cheer up Penny, dis could be fun!"

"When we get home," Spencer drawled in a voice that did all sorts of delicious things to Remy's libido, "I'm going to cause you a hell of a lot of pain."

Funny, Remy was completely okay with that. Spencer was not happy in the slightest. Mr D may not have seen him in this form in well over a decade, but that didn't mean he wouldn't recognise him. If this plan went awry he'd make damn sure Remy didn't sleep for a month. As it stood he could start getting his kicks now. Casting an illusion over Remy, Spencer stopped before the rather surly bouncers and winked at one.

"Well, well boys, looks like quite the party."

As they expected, tongues ended up dropping to navels and dumb and dumber practically fell over themselves to let Spencer in. Remy was mildly surprised they caused no trouble for him. With big grins the goons waved them through and once inside Remy got a load of himself in a large mirror adorning the left side. The illusion was well constructed and unless someone attempted to touch him, no one would notice the lie. Appearance drastically changed, Remy found a petite, voluptuous female looking back at him with long black hair, coffee coloured skin and stunning electric blue eyes. To top it off he was in an ensemble that could be only called underwear and knee-length velvet boots. Scowling he turned to face a grinning Spencer. "Dats cold Penny," Remy winced at the sound of his feminine bedroom voice and Spencer's smile grew bigger.

"Well Rems, revenge is a dish best served cold."

Rolling his eyes Remy nudged Spencer forward. Club aconite was packed to the rafters and so far no one had recognised Spencer. That was good. This was mostly about Intel. Despite Remy's words, he knew Mr D didn't keep the kids here, but all Spencer needed to do was touch Mr D and they would know exactly where the children were. It still sickened Remy. Oh Mr D was no Good Samaritan by any stretch of the imagination, but to fall into the black market business where he sold his own kind was a whole other ball game and Remy would have no qualms about taking the bastard down. So it was in and out to reconvene with Scott and the others for a rescue mission. Curious eyes followed the duo as they moved through the club and Remy was the first to notice Mr D. The man had gained quite a few pounds since the Cajun had last seen him. A fresh scar marred the left side of his face and he appeared to be absorbed in some sort of business. Making a gesture toward Spencer, Remy ventured toward Mr D's left while Spencer moved directly into Mr D's line of sight. Unsurprisingly the man didn't recognise Spencer—seventeen years was a long time between visits—and his leering gaze was all the invite Spencer needed. Grinning seductively he sauntered toward his target and poured himself—well herself—into the man's lap.

"Mmm," Mr D purred in appreciation, "aren't you a pretty little thing?"

"You aren't too bad yourself," Spencer purred wanting to gouge his own eyes out. The things he did as part of the X-Men. Ugh! Remy, hell, the entire X-Men team owed him big time for this. Mr D waved away his company. He could deal with such matters after he had played with the plush young thing sat upon his lap. She seemed familiar, but he'd worry about that later. Running a hand over her thigh Mr D grinned up at her.

"Do you have a name beautiful?"

Spencer grinned, chewing prettily on his plump lower lip. "Everyone calls me Mirage."

Mr D chuckled and he sat up just a little bit straighter, "Mirage huh? Hmm, why does that name sound so familiar?" What?! Shit! Mr D's whole demeanour changed and the grip tightened, bordering on painful. A positively sharkish look took over his face. "Oh! I know why, because the psychic mutant I keep on my pay roll told me you were coming!"

The sudden fury was startlingly and Spencer yelped when he was shoved forcefully to the ground. He had barely gotten himself to his feet when a needle was rammed into the side of his throat. As his mind grew foggy, the lie melted away and Spencer collapsed in a heap, catching his side on broken glass as he went down. Mr D shook his head and winked at Oracle. The dark haired woman grinned maliciously.

Busy investigating the back rooms Remy knew something had gone wrong when he was suddenly visible as himself again. His sudden transformation drew the attention of the guard he had conned into bringing him back here and with a fevered curse Remy whipped out his Bō. Too bad for him the dumb guard wasn't as dumb as Remy thought and it was lights out before Remy even hit the ground.

* * *

><p>Consciousness was slow to return and with it came a whole lot of discomfort. Remy groaned and opening his eyes he hissed when the searing sun immediately blinded his sensitive eyes. Rolling onto his belly the mutant groaned and carefully let his eyes adjust. He found Spencer sat not too far from him, his face haggard looking. "About time you woke up." Spencer told him hoarsely.<p>

Slowly Remy got to his feet and looked about. His stomach sank when he realised they were in the middle of the Nevada desert miles away from civilisation and a quick check told him his phone was gone. In its place he found a small silver bracelet upon his wrist. "What's dis?" He questioned voice just as hoarse as Spencer's.

"From what I can tell, some sort of block. We're cut off from our powers and any form of telepathic link."

Remy froze. "De X-Men, dey won't be able t' find us?"

Spencer shook his head, "Nope."

Great, that was just fucking great! They had no cover, no powers and no way of contacting Scott or Jean and with no water it was hard to know how long they would last in such a harsh environment. Sadly they had no other option but to get off their asses and start walking. Remy cursed angrily to himself. This was his fault! He never should've had Spencer don the hooker form, she had clearly been familiar.

"He didn't recognise me," Spencer told him taking a guess as to what had caused the turmoil upon his lover's face, "he has a psychic mutant on staff. The bastard knew we were coming before we even set foot in his place."

"_Merde_," Remy exclaimed stalking this way and that, "I thought Xavier confirmed dere wouldn't be any obstacles like dat?"

"He did," Spencer agreed with an irritated huff, "it would seem not even he can predict every outcome. This mutant slipped through the cracks."

Of course they had. For good measure Remy paced a little more. He wanted to stomp off his temper before they went anywhere. Spencer had enough to contend with without him being a cranky asshole on top of it and vice versa. Spencer left him to his meditative stomping, shifting his weight slightly. A pained hiss escaped him and Remy practically flew toward him, eyes wide with concern. Carefully Spencer pulled up the black tee and Remy let out a chorus of venomous curses. There was a deep incision cut along one side. It had clotted, but the edges were already inflamed looking and possible infection was quite high.

"_Cher_, how did y' do dat, did dat _connard_ do dat?!" Because if he had Remy would cause him a world of pain once he got his ass back to civilisation.

"I don't know," Spencer admitted feebly, "this happened after I passed out, so I don't know how."

Remy nodded. "Can y' walk?"

"I think so, I haven't really tried." Spencer reached up to his lover. "Help me up?"

Remy easily pulled Spencer upright, wincing when it drew a yelp from the boy. His injured side clearly did not wish to be moved. For a second Spencer swayed. He looked caught between possibly vomiting or fainting. Remy dreaded either. Out of sheer stubbornness he stayed on his feet and looked about. A native to Las Vegas he may be, but even Spencer couldn't pinpoint where they were.

"Let's get moving," the boy said eventually, starting off on shaky feet.

Remy followed behind him, his eyes locked on his lover. If ever he had prayed for a miracle it was now. For a time they carried on in silence. Odd for either one of them, but neither mutant was up to talking. Now and again Spencer stumbled and Remy moved to help him, but determinedly the youth kept going. The sun was fierce and unmerciful and only after a couple of hours of walking the pair had to stop. Spencer basically collapsed where he stood, breathing heavily while Remy was a tad more graceful about it. Panting, his throat scratchy from breathing in so much dry air and sand, Remy dragged his sorry ass toward his lover and winced. Where his skin had darkened under the harsh rays, Spencer's was burning, patches of his snowy skin turned lobster red. Sadly it would only add to his dehydration. Ignoring Spencer's muffled protests Remy pushed up his tee and cursed. The inflammation had worsened, a light puss oozing at the edges of the crusty scab.

"How bad," Spencer croaked.

"Bad _bébé_," Remy replied, "y' got an infection setting in."

Damn it, of course he did. He never did anything by halves, so why start now? Any movement hurt so Spencer tried to stay perfectly still. Not easy when you were lying on gritty, hot sand. Closing his eyes Spencer distracted himself by rifling through facts and statistics. Nevada desert—the great basin desert—was the largest US desert and covered a hundred and ninety thousand square miles. It was bordered by the Sierra Nevada range on the west and the Rocky Mountains on the east, with the Columbia plateau to the north and the Mojave and Sonoron deserts to the south. The great basin lacked any creosote bush and rainfall varied from seven to twelve inches per year. How this helped them knowing any of this, since Spencer couldn't pinpoint their location, the youth had no idea, but at least it helped calm him.

"Penny," Remy nudged gently, "come on _bébé_, we need t' get movin'."

Tired, Spencer was so tired, but he got up anyway, gritting his teeth against the explosion of pain when his side protested. This time when Remy offered support, the genius took it. They kept going. Even with Spencer's phenomenal mind he couldn't keep track of how long they walked. When the sun finally went down and the temperature dropped, he was never more relieved. With some dried shrubbery and Remy's lighter they got a small fire going. Sleepily Spencer settled down beside it and got comfy the best he could. Remy watched him with worried eyes. He wanted to keep Spencer awake, his lover's lethargy was worrisome, but at the same time Spencer needed to sleep. They were silent and before long Spencer had drifted off while his lover remained a guard over him, too bad Remy couldn't protect him from his dreams, where memories took hold and wouldn't let go.

* * *

><p><em>Pain, it was fresh and hungry and tearing at Spencer's insides. The fifteen year old darted through empty streets, jumped a wall and darted into a nearby alley where he crouched down and waited. He told Miss Alvers this was a bad idea. Why did adults never listen?! From the moment he stepped into his new foster home he knew he was in trouble. His new foster parents could just about contain their disgust and still his case worker left him there! Spencer knew it wasn't because he was a mutant, no, plenty of ordinary children had suffered the same faith. The system was corrupt and no one fought to fix it. Clinging to an overturned trashcan Spencer waited with baited breath. He learnt very early on, it wasn't the parents he had to worry about, but their two biological sons. They brought hatred for mutant kind to a whole other level and had upgraded from beating him to burning him. Samson the eldest figured out pain cut him off from his powers, so until the throb backed off, Spencer couldn't concentrate long enough to change his shape. Hearing movement the teen froze._

_"Spencey," Samson called, his brother Zeke tittering like a buffoon beside him, "come out come out wherever you are."_

_Cradling his injured arm to his chest Spencer forced his breathing to settle, begging his heart to quit beating with the force of a tribal drum. The only way out of the alley was past Zeke and Samson. Deeper into the alley the eighteen and seventeen year olds ventured. By now Spencer's pain had settled, but who could he shift into? The sons of bitches knew all his tricks! Caught up in his own flummoxed thoughts he never saw Samson come around the side of the trashcan until a fist was in his hair and Spencer was dragged to his feet. He yelped, rainbow irises blowing wide. Samson's triumphant grin was one hundred percent wolfish and the feel of a knife pressed into Spencer's side meant knife happy Zeke was behind him._

_"Well hey there Spencer," Samson greeted jovially as if this was just a normal get together, "been looking all over for you kiddo. That burn looked awful bad."_

Of course it was bad you psychotic bastard, you stuck a hot iron to my flesh! _"I-It's fine now...t-the pain's easing off." _

_"Good." Oh God that smile was positively malicious. "Now, my brother and I need a favour."_

_That didn't sound at all ominously suspicious, "L-Like what?" With a grin Samson rooted through his jacket pocket and produced a small handerkerchief. Zeke reached over opening it and Spencer caught sight of five or six long blonde strands. Warning bells roared to life. By a miracle he kept calm. "What do you want me to do?"_

_"I need you to put those weird powers of yours to use. Do you think you can do that for me?"_

_Shit, shit, shiiiiiit! Not good, this was not good, but with a knife way too close to soft, vulnerable places, Spencer did as he was told. The transformation took a little longer than usual. It was hard to do these things under pressure, eventually it took effect and as his shape changed Spencer felt a flood of new memories fill his mind. They belonged to a sixteen year old girl who went to their school. Natalia, a pretty blonde who had a little brother named Conor and liked horror movies. When Spencer finally opened his eyes they were a vivid forget-me-not blue and the hungry expression Samson wore drove home exactly what this was about._

_"No!" Spencer yelped in a sweet melodious voice that wasn't his, but Samson snarled and pulled 'her' toward him. "Even try and shift back Spencey and Zeke will cut you open, are we clear?"_

_Whimpering Spencer nodded. Samson's grin was all malicious triumph and dragging his captive deeper into the alley away from prying eyes, Samson spun Spencer around and forced him against the wall. Oh God, the kid's power mimicked perfectly, he even smelled like Natalia! Spencer whimpered, crying silently, but otherwise was silent. Zeke kept the kid compliant and ripping open his jeans, Samson rolled on a condom. Shoving up Spencer's skirt, he pushed white panties aside and took heaven. A hand over Spencer's mouth muffled the scream and Samson was anything but gentle. That prissy perfect bitch Natalia wouldn't give him the time of day, but with Spencer, he could fuck her anytime he wanted. Spencer's hands scraped against the wall and agony sang up his spine. His logical brain knew this had more to it then Samson simply wanting sex with some girl. Blood, he could smell his own blood as it coated his thighs and as the thrusts quickened, bordering on violent, he could only be grateful that Samson was almost done. With a bellow it was all over and Samson tossed Spencer violently to the ground._

_"Oh God, oh man that was good," Samson groaned, panting heavily, "your turn Zeke."_

_Oh God no! Whimpering Spencer shakily pushed himself onto his knees and when his eyes wrapped around a shard of glass he pulled it toward himself._

_"I got my own bitch I want you to change into," Zeke purred stalking toward Spencer._

_No, no, not again. With a fire burning through him, Spencer dropped his blonde disguise and surging upright with a cry of fury he slammed the shard into Zeke's throat. Samson roared with a mix of rage and horror. He caught Zeke when he stumbled and fell and leaving him to bleed to death, Spencer darted from the alley and never looked back.../_

* * *

><p>Spencer tore forward from sleep a horse cry pushing past his lips. Remy was by his side in seconds and when Spencer wouldn't let him touch him, the Cajun knew exactly what the dream had been about. "Easy, easy <em>bébé<em>," Remy consoled gently, "dey not here _petit_, Samson and Zeke can't hurt y' no more."

Well Zeke definitely couldn't. Spencer had killed him in that alley and had run. A year later he ran into Remy and once he came of age, the system no longer worried him. He was legally an adult and no longer their problem. God the dream had been so vivid. It had been a long time since Spencer had thought about either one. It had been a long time before he had let anyone touch him so intimately. Remy had been the first and only. Finally relaxing Spencer smiled shakily up at Remy. It was still dark out. "S-Sorry, bad dream."

"Don't y' apologise," Remy scolded the youth, "we're all entitled t' bad dreams." Frowning Remy reached over and pressed a hand to Spencer's cheek. He cursed angrily. "_Merde_, y've a hell of a fever _bébé_."

Come to think of it, Spencer didn't feel all that good. His side ached, his head throbbed violently and his stomach was not in a happy place. With shaky fingers he pulled up his tee and whined from the pain. Oh Lord, it did not look good. Infection had set in badly. The scab had split, puss spilling free and the smell of infection was noticeable. The veins about the wound were dark and Spencer swallowed heavily looking up at his lover, "Septicaemia."

"Shit," The Cajun cursed furiously, "fuck, we need t' get y' out of here!"

That was the understatement of the century. Remy stood and looked about. With his eyes seeing wasn't an issue, but moving Spencer mightened have been the best option. Still they had very few options to choose from. First thing was first, however, tending to the infected injury the best they could. Rooting around in his pockets Remy produced his lighter and a small knife. Another search brought up a handkerchief and Remy really wished he had water or hell a shot of vodka, anything to clean out the wound. The best he'd be able to do was get the puss out. Spencer's sleepy eyes watched him. Sweat poured off his cheeks and when Remy looked up, the youth nodded. He knew what Remy intended to do and he was letting the Cajun know to go for it, whatever kept him alive longer and all that. Gently Remy removed Spencer's tee and placed it aside. God his side looked awful, the feverish tint to his skin doing nothing to improve its appearance. Using his lighter Remy ran it over the blade of his knife burning away any bacteria and before Spencer could tense up he lanced the wound. The boy yelped, arching but Remy kept him still, soothing him down with gentle words.

"Just get on with it," Spencer forced out, doing his best not to tip over.

"_Désolé bébé_," Remy apologised before tending to the wound. It was slow work that left Spencer crying out and writhing. Once he got as much puss as he could out Remy tore a length of fabric off the end of his trench coat and bandaged it. Once Spencer was free of Remy's attempt at medical aid, he rolled onto all fours and vomited. With each retch there was a fresh wave of pain and every time the pain struck nausea rolled through him. The tidal wave finally levelled out and with a groan Spencer flopped onto his back. His breath was ragged, strained and Remy didn't like that. Eyes closed Spencer chuckled hoarsely.

"Now I know how Scott felt."

Remy winced, "_Merde_, why'd y' bring dat up? Never seen fearless so close t' loosin' it."

"Septicaemia is no joke. After this agony, I will never complain again. Everything pales in comparison." Looking at the bracelet on his arm, disgruntled Spencer struggled into a sitting position and sighed heavily. The desert landscape looked waaaaaay too big for his shaking legs. "We need to get moving."

"Y'r t' weak Penny," Remy pointed out.

"Yeah well, I refuse to die here, so come on Rems, we're moving out." Yanking his tee back on Spencer got onto his feet and only God knows how. Hell, the kid was lucky he was conscious! Falling into step beside his lover, Remy hoped once again for a miracle. Within a couple of hours the sun came up and with it the temperature began to climb. The odd lone coyote prickled at Remy's nerves, but they paid them little heed, skulking about only to dart off. Spencer stumbled along without complaint, but even his bull headedness couldn't keep him going. Eventually his legs crumpled beneath him. Remy crouched down beside his lover, Spencer's breathing had grown much worse and his cheeks were crimson with fever.

"Easy _bébé_, I got y'." Carefully Remy scooped him up and continued on. Spencer was boiling hot, lungs tormented and yet awful shivers ran through his body. "_Bébé_, y' cold?"

"F-Freezing," Spencer whimpered.

Oh crap, that wasn't good. Stopping Remy set Spencer down hushing him with gentle words when he mewled in discomfort. Peeling off his less than stellar trench coat—damn sand—Remy wrapped up his shivering boyfriend and got moving again. The muscles in his legs protested fiercely and with almost two days without food or water severe exhaustion had set it. Both Spencer and Remy knew how to push through harsh conditions, but even they weren't built for this. Spencer slept on and off in Remy's arms and Remy was quite close to giving up until they passed over another rise and the most beautiful sight appeared ahead of them.

"Dat better not be a mirage." Remy moaned piteously. "Hey, help, please, HELP!"

There were cars, black SUV's and it took Remy a second to realise he may very well be looking at cops or some shit. But with Spencer in his condition, Remy couldn't give a flying fuck. It took a few tries, but the closer he got had them eventually hearing him. No longer able to stay upright, Remy fell to his knees and suddenly he was surrounded.

"We need a paramedic!" A woman with black hair hollered behind to the gathered posse.

Remy looked over in the same direction and saw there was a bunch of kids being tended to and realised they were the kids Xavier had sent them to get Intel on. The relief that flooded him was immense. A little out of it Remy flinched when a hand touched his and found a blonde woman had approached.

"Easy, my name's JJ," she told him gently, " can the paramedic look at your friend?" FBI was emblazoned on her vest, others had vests like it and Remy couldn't bring himself to care. Remy nodded and moved Spencer so he was more visible. The paramedic was swift to remove the trench coat and whimpering in distress Spencer opened his eyes when he caught sight of several unfamiliar faces he panicked, fighting to get away.

"No, no, easy Penny," Remy comforted his delirious lover, "dats it _Cher_, dey only wanna look at y' _bébé_."

Something of what Remy said registered and with a nod Spencer relaxed. It was a muddle after that. They wanted to examine Remy too and though they tried to put them in separate ambulances, Remy was having none of it. Words of septicaemia, dehydration and numerous other medical jargons washed over him. Once Remy was sure Spencer was okay he gave into the exhaustion pulling him under and the darkness, it was bliss.

* * *

><p><strong>~.~:*.*:\~.~**

* * *

><p>When Remy came too he found himself in a hospital bed. Someone had put him on an IV and the only reason he hadn't blown the needle was because that stupid bracelet was still on his wrist. Looking about, forcing his fear of hospitals down, Remy gave a start when he found the one who had called herself JJ by his bedside flicking through a book. She wasn't alone. A man stood looking out the window and the second Remy shifted they were both by his bedside.<p>

"Spencer," he croaked immediately, "where's Spencer?"

"He's fine," JJ answered quickly, "the doctors got to him in time. He's been put on an IV and heavy antibiotics, but he's going to be okay."

Remy let out an exclamation in French and the tension drained from him. Closing his eyes briefly he thanked whatever deity was listening. If he had lost Spencer it would've been the end of him. Spencer was his whole world. "Sir?" Remy twisted and looked up at the big guy. "I'm Agent Derek Morgan and this is Agent Jennifer Jareau, we're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course y' do," Remy bit out irritably, "well since y' saved Penny's life, I won't begrudge y' dat. Go on, ask away."

Morgan settled down in the chair beside Remy's bed, "for starters, I don't need to ask who you are. We took a guess Gambit. Rescue mission that went awry?"

"Pretty much," Remy responded completely unsurprised he knew him, well, at least by his X-Men name. Hard not to when he was all geared up and he was on the FBI's watch list. "An Intel mission dat went wrong. Penny got hurt, we were knocked out and woke up in de middle of de desert."

"Your friends lucky to be alive," Morgan pointed out.

"A fact I'm fully aware of Agent," Remy replied icily, "we would've been rescued sooner if de _connard_ hadn't placed dese stupid blockers on us. We've no access t' our powers."

"We've someone who might be able to remove those for you," JJ told him gently, "we're glad we found you. Spencer didn't look as if he could've gone another day in those conditions."

"Can I see him?"

Morgan shook his head, "Doc wants you to stay in bed."

Remy grinned and swiftly clambered from bed. Carefully he took down his IV baggie and cradled it in one arm. "Dats not a no t' me." He said cutting through any and all of the agents protests. Nothing and no one was keeping him from Penny. He made a mental note to call Scott. That man was going to chew him up but good. Cheerfully Remy made his way from the room. He had gone about two feet when he realised he didn't know where Spencer was being kept. When he turned sheepishly toward the agents JJ chuckled and took his other arm.

"Come on, I'll take you there, Morgan will tell your doctor you've gone walkabout."

Remy chuckled and happily let JJ steer him, "I'm guessing we're not under arrest?"

"Not all of us believe what you do is wrong Gambit," JJ told him honestly.

If Remy was surprised he kept it to himself. He forgot sometimes that not all legal authorities were assholes. Spencer's room was only two doors down. The black haired woman from before sat with him. She got to her feet surprised when Remy came in on somewhat shaky feet. Remy paid only enough attention to hear her name was Emily and swiftly ignored them all for the form sprawled in the hospital bed. Spencer's skin had been slathered with aloe Vera, but Remy could still see the raw red burns. His breathing was rough and the heart monitor beeped faster than he would've liked, but he had hope. He and Spencer had been through far too much for such a scrape to take them out. Taking the empty seat that Emily had vacated, Remy reached out and took his lovers hand. His pulse beat beneath his fingers, a firm reminder that Spencer was alive, that they had survived.

TBC...

* * *

><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE:<strong>

Look out for the part two of the Survival Trilogy which will be a Multi-Chapter-Mirage!


End file.
